


Companions React to a m!SoSu Receiving a Synth Replacement Spouse

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [24]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gore, Love Triangles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-11-28 16:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: The Institute sends the Sole Survivor a rather interesting gift.





	1. Preston Garvey

**Author's Note:**

> Originally psoted to my Tumblr; tea-petty
> 
> This work is not complete.

The sun was shooing away the lingering  night when Preston gathered at the meager cooking fire in the Castle’s courtyard.  He huddled closely around his mug of lukewarm coffee; as if it were fire itself.  A violent shiver shot up his spine and he brought the mug to his lips, and sipped deeply.  A cold gust of wind clawed at his back. His  thin, colonial duster did little to shield him from the bitter, Commonwealth chill.  On the other side of the fire, the General sat with the Minutemen’s newest “recruit”.  Preston tried not to appear petulant. It used to be  _his_  spot by the fire, and  _his_  words Sole clung to.  Out of his peripheral vision, a sturdy shadow loomed, menacing in nature, despite how he sat off to the side.

X6-88 could have added to the list of things making the whole situation so surreal. That was on top of a stranger wearing Sole’s late wife’s face waltzing up to the Castle and reclaiming her spot at Sole’s side as if two-hundred years had not passed at all.  A spot that Preston  previously inhabited, he might add.  X6 came with the woman; a “traveling companion” if there ever was one. Preston suspected he was there as a failsafe, to ensure such  _precious cargo_  reached its destination.  And reached she did. Her arm slunk to Sole’s knee and squeezed slightly.  It was a small gesture, but air escaped Preston’s lips as if Nora’s manicured nails punctured his lungs.

Sole smiled a smile that was a hair’s breadth warmer than polite and Preston released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he took her hand in his and moved it gently from his knee.  He did not miss the way he gave her hand a squeeze.  Preston was not jealous, and this was not a lover’s quarrel.  He and Sole weren’t quarreling at all.  While the Minuteman certainly didn’t appreciate the way, Nora wedged herself into his and Sole’s previously easy routine, he couldn’t begrudge Sole for being weak to her advances.  Preston respected Nora’s place in Sole’s heart; they had taken vows after all, and despite the sacred ‘ _’til death do us part_ ’ that book-ended most wedding vows, it could be found that while death was strong enough to snatch away someone who’d made such vows, it was not enough to erase the gravity of the promises made.  Preston sincerely liked to believe that had he had the privilege of meeting Nora himself, he would’ve liked her.  Admittedly, he was not fond of this poor imitation.

Preston watched as Sole headed towards the beckoning stone arch of the Castle’ entrance, fully dressed in his General’s attire.  Preston could not stop the smile that spread across his face, his cheeks dimpling as charmingly as he was charmed himself.  He had always loved that about Sole – how he’d preferred to respond to settlement’s himself, when he could.  The unusual circumstances of his entrance into the Commonwealth had made him well-known, but it was his heart of gold that made him well-respected among the factions, and people.  As abruptly as his lips quirked upwards, they were flattened down into an unwitting grimace like a daisy under heavy footfalls.  Nora trailed after Sole, her pleading whine evident by her body language – never mind her shrill voice.  Of course, when Sole looked onto her face, his own was saturated in warmth; a perfect example of ‘ _if I could just see her face, one last time…_ ’

It had been many times now, though, and Preston had quite enough of watching Sole appease this fussy, high-maintenance doppelganger again and again.  Preston shook his head slightly as the two departed, Sole resuming his purposeful stride, and ‘Nora’ trotting lackadaisically behind him.  When Preston dared to let his gaze wander again, he noticed X6-88 watching him; his eyes cold with their unexplored depths, the cool blue of an ocean that would sooner swallow you up and stow your corpse in its sunken treasury than spit you out and let you drift.

“Relax,” Preston eased, “I’m not trying anything.”

He wasn’t the sort to conjure up threats where there were none.

“I’m not worried, you wouldn’t get very far anyways.” X6’s voice held the same uncaring quality his eyes held.

Preston snorted, X6 was a Courser, so he was trained to be the exact opposite.

“I don’t see why it matters anyhow,” Preston continued, sitting back so he could see X6 more fully.  “In the end, she’s not actually Nora – even if Sole does fall in love with her,” Preston swallowed, tasting steel lance against his teeth, “it’ll be with  _her_ , not with Nora, or whoever it is W3-19 is pretending to be.”

X6 raised his eyebrows at Preston’s use of ‘Nora’s’ designation; not even Father had taken to using it when he’d dispatched her.  Treating her like the original Nora made the sentiment sit easier with all of them, he thought.

“True, but that’s not for us to decide, is it?”

Neither of them said anything more as the tedious stretch of late morning melted into early afternoon.  It passed as painstakingly as blood passed behind a bruise, and then it started to drizzle, and the tension that crackled in the air burst as Nora came stumbling back into the courtyard.  Dark crimson seeped through her clothing in such a haphazard way, it took a couple of minutes of frantic scrutiny to realize that she wasn’t the source of the bleeding.  Sole’s arm was slung around her shoulder, his knees trembling with the threat to buckle, as his free hand clutched warningly at his gut.

Preston and X6 scrambled to where Nora and Sole had stopped – neither had considered much past making it back to safety.  If asked much later, Nora might confess to never expecting to make it back at all.  The rain plastered Nora’s dark curls to her head, making her appear smaller, and her fearful eyes, that much more so.

“What happened?” X6’s voice was smooth as ice, albeit alive with he urgency the situation called for.

“F-Ferals,” Nora gasped, “and a lot of them – I didn’t know what to do, and h-he saved me.” Her voice caught at her throat and pulled, like a large fish that refused to get reeled in.  Then it gave way to a breathy cacophony of sobs.  “H-He pushed me out of the way, and now he might be –“

Preston’s heart seized at his ribs with a force that ran the risk of snapping them.  He and Nora seemed to exist in tangent planes, as she ignored him to clutch helplessly at X6, and Preston let her whimpers fall deafly at his back like water on duck feathers, turning his full attention instead to Sole.

He groaned and fell forwards into Preston, who’d caught him readily.  One of Preston’s hands kept a steadying grip around Sole’s torso, as the other slunk down to Sole’s grip at his stomach.  All he had to do was ease a leather-gloved finger along the bloody seam where Sole’s arm met his abdomen to catch a glimpse of sickeningly bright pink.  The air reeked of copper and sweat, mingling soc loosely that no one in the vicinity could even discern it from fresh air any longer.   Panic shot through Preston’s nerves, like ice-water, and he sidled himself against Sole in a way that allowed him to shoulder the majority of his weight, while placing his arm over Sole’s in a desperate attempt to keep Sole’s viscera where it belonged.

“ _Where is he taking him_?” a shrill voice demanded.

Preston kept on with the lop-sided gait as Minutemen poured from the walls of the Castle, some scattering to Preston and helping to life the General so that he was now fully on his back,  while others scampered off to the Infirmary, and prepared for a spot to lay him.  X6’s mouth was pressed into a thin line as he clutched at Nora; the pretense of comfort was there, but as she strained against him, it became quite obvious that it was a small victory he was granting Preston.  His heart sank; the situation must’ve been even graver than he’d initially thought.

By the time they had reached the Infirmary, a cot lay central to the room, and the troupe of Minutemen carrying Sole laid him gently atop it.  In peculiar synchronization, they fanned outwards, giving Preston the space to kneel at the General’s bedside.  No one made any scrambling moves for supplies.  The prominent trail of blood leading to the cot, as well as the rapidly growing puddle beneath it seemed to freeze them in their tracks.  Preston’s head bowed as a few of his fellow Minutemen removed their hats, twisting and wringing the garments in their hands.  The fight was already lost; it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ anymore, but ‘when’, and Preston didn’t want Sole to have to cross over on his own.  A low, bubbling groan sounded from Sole’s bluing lips.  Preston clutched one of Sole’s hands between his own, almost in prayer, as if he could will some of his own life force into the fallen General’s.

“It’s okay,” he whispered hoarsely, “you can go now.” Preston’s nose burned viciously as a frustrating wetness collected at his eyes.  Singular tears streaked down his cheeks in a slow step; this moment was far too precious to rush.  Sole’s arm was not clutching at his abdomen anymore, so much as laying atop it.  The tapping of blood against the concrete floor began to slow.  “Sshhh, you did well.  She’s safe you know.” Preston choked out.  Death was coaxing Sole towards him with one bony hand, and the other was gripping the column of Preston’s throat.  “And, the rest of us will be fine too, so you j-just…”

A greedy sob escaped from his mouth, refusing to be stifled any longer.  As if knowing that Preston was unable to say anything more, Sole’s chest fell one last time.  The crimson stopped.

Preston hoped Nora had been ready to meet her husband again.


	2. Cait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Sole had to rub his eyes to confirm that the view from his Sanctuary home window wasn’t, in fact, a dream.  Dead sprouts of grass still littered the neighborhood in patches, like the mangy pelt on a flea-ridden animal.  The pre-war, metal bus stop sign for Concord-bound townies was reduced to a gnarled piece of scrap, a rusted serpent contorting with radiation burns.  There was an unshakable film of dirt and dust over everything, everything being a thick layer of scrap and debris.  Still , when Sole peered out his front window, hours after his lover  left the safety of their shared home to investigate yao guai sightings north of pre-war Boston, he saw something that he hadn’t seen in two-hundred years – and that he hadn’t ever expected to see again.

In a crisp white dress, with her hair curled neatly, carrying a small satchel stood his late-wife, Nora.  The very one he’d seen shot when Kellogg had taken Shaun from them.  Yet here she was standing by where the bus stop used to be, as if she’d just taken the 329 bus straight out from Fantasy-land.  Sole felt the floor shift beneath him, and for a second, he thought it might’ve been an earthquake, or God forbid – another bomb?  Then his hand caught the window sill to steady himself and he realized it was him that was shaking.   

Sole headed outside, his hand cupping at his brow to form a visor against the sun.  The woman turned to look at him, and she immediately smiled in recognition.  A memory of Nora – the  _real_  Nora – in a sundress looking at him the same way flashed in his mind.  It was only a glimpse but Sole could recall it well.  He had just arrived back from his service, and she’d gone to pick him up at the airport.  She’d ran to him then.

This Nora crossed the several last steps of distance to meet him.

“Hi,” he said lamely, his mouth dry.

“Hello, you must be Sole?” Her assumption was a question, so Sole nodded.

“Yes, I am and you’re…Nora?”

In some sort of twisted way, he felt like he was meeting his wife for the first time all over again.  Cait’s face flickered in his mind – viciously loyal, and fiercely loving Cait.  He couldn’t say with certainty if he’d fall in love with his wife again.

Nora laughed. “Yes, I was instructed to go by such an alias upon arriving at your residence – my designation is A2-57, but you can call me ‘Nora’.”

The air left Sole’s lungs, taking his anxiety with it.  This wasn’t the mother of his child, this was just someone with the same face.

“Thank you.” He mustered a smile back now, his relief allowing him to do that much, “but that won’t be necessary.”

She cocked her head to the side, confused.

“What I mean is, you can’t stay here unfortunately, I…not with me.”

She frowned.

“I don’t understand – I was directed to come here, where I was told my accommodations would be waiting.”

Guilt pricked in Sole, but it wasn’t as strong as the urgency that needed her anywhere else before Cait returned.

“The information they gave you was wrong, I can have accommodations set up for you elsewhere, but there isn’t a place for you here, I’m sorry,” Sole spoke quickly, going through the motions as quickly as possible – he could mean it when he was out of the woods later.

He brought a hand to hover at the small of her back and gestured in the direction leading out of Sanctuary before he started walking.  She knew to walk with him and kept pace well, not that she had any say in the matter; he was practically corralling her out of the settlement.

“Well now, that won’t work – I’m supposed to meet up with X6-88 so he can report back to Father about how smoothly things are running.”

Sole nodded along, trying to keep her from stopping.

“See now, but I was just appointed Father’s successor.”

“Oh! That’s right!”

Her face lit up, and she almost paused again in her delight.  Sole continued to all but drag her along.

“Yes, so, I’ll get you on the road where other accommodations will be made for you, and I’ll take care of X6 and Father myself.” His smile was corporate, and if the real Nora would’ve seen him then, she probably would’ve shuddered.

“Is it safe?”

“Perfectly.”

“And comfortable?”

“Exceptionally so,” Sole lied again as they arrived at the bridge.

The large junk-fashioned gates were wide open as Trashcan Carla and her caravan began readied for their departure.

“Hey Carla,” Sole called, “can you take A — Nora with you?”

Carla turned at the sound of her name, her eyebrows flying up in surprise.  She looked over to survey the synth, who smiled bashfully back.

“Sure, but I’m going all the way to — ”

“It’s fine,” Sole interrupted before turning to Nora again. “Listen, follow the nice lady and that’s where you can stay.”

“But –“

“What’s going on here?”

Sole’s blood ran cold, and he turned to see standing and appraising the scene; Trashcan Carla and her merry band of caravanners and brahmin, and Sole with one hand on the back of a pretty woman’s face who Cait would recognize as the one she’d seen haphazardly on scraps of old photos, as they turned up around the home she now shared with him.  Cait crossed her arms, which gleaned a sheen of sweat and flecks of brown.  Freckles, bits of dirt, and spots of dried blood mingled together to be indistinguishable.  Slung over her shoulder was what useable remnants she’d kept from her encounter with the yao guai.  Sole felt like he might melt into a puddle right there.  He would’ve been grateful for the chance of his soupy runoff to seep between the cracks in the wood of the bridge, only to fall into the modest stream, and be carried away.  Away from this woman’s presence which was more terrifying than whatever she’d faced in the woods that morning.

“Who’s this?” Cait’s eyes glinted like knives.

Before Sole could stop her, Nora beamed. “I’m Nora, I’m Sole’s wife.  How do you do?”

Cait grinned a shark’s grin, cocking her head to the side.  She appraised Sole, her feigned politeness holding him at arms’ length in a vise-like grip.

“Hm. I see.”

Sole felt a deep chill settle inside him.

“Then, I’ll leave ye to it.”

Mere acquaintanceship buffering Nora from her malice.

“Why, thank you!” The synth breamed, undeterred.

Cait turned icily to Sole. “A word?”

Sole agreed, letting her pull him off to the side, aware from Nora’s blissful ignorance.  He felt much like a man on death row.  Once they had garnered some semblance of privacy, Cait’s smooth façade cracked.

“ _Wife_?  Care ta explain?”

“I…well, she came from the Institute,” Sole began. “I had intended to get her out of here so you’d never even have to know about it.  She’s not actually Nora, anyways.”

Cait smacked his arm.

“Ye think  _that’s_  what matters?”

Sole swallowed.

“Instead of tellin’ me about it, ye thought ye’d sneak her off, like she was some dirty little secret of yers.”

“But don’t you get it, love?” Sole raised his hand to her arm, curling gently as he attempted to ease her temper.  “I chose you; there’s nothing to be upset about!”

“You lied to me about yer wife’s clone showin’ up in our lives, and was tryin’ to get by without tellin’ me,” her voice was acid.  “So tell me, did ya really choose  _me_?”

Cait wrenched away from his grasp, leaving Sole scrabbling frantically for one of her hands.  He pressed it between his intently, as if the pads of his fingers willed understanding into her.

“Of course I do Cait, I’ll always pick you.  I –“

“ _It was a rhetorical question,_ ” she hissed before snatching her hands back.

Sole watched distraughtly as Cait spun on her heel and left.  He could see she was heading towards their shared home – somehow this did not instill confidence in the state of their relationship.  The lashed pacing to her gait didn’t say her trip was a returning one, rather, it was one that told him she was on the move.  Wherever she was going, it wasn’t close.  Sole watched her leave him for a few moments, until her form had grown so small with distance, that he feared she was already in ample position to slip right through his fingers.  He took off at a run then, his eyes locked on how she disappeared into their house, and refusing to believe she would have a bag packed and ready to go by the time he’d caught up to her. Meanwhile, A2-57 followed the shambling group of caravanners and brahmin out of Sanctuary Hills, dust lifting in clouds at her heels.


	3. Curie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The day had started off like any other.  Curie left the home she shared with Sole for work as she did every morning; with him perusing the latest edition of  _Publick Occurrences_  over a cup of coffee.  She darted out the door, with a peck on the cheek in passing, the ‘ _I love you_ ’ implied by their devoted, yearlong, routine.  At the clinic, it was business as usual; a couple of scraped knees from the settlement children, and some stitches for some poor sap who attempted to retile his house without knowing how to properly cut the sheets of metal.  

The sky was candescent in swirling candied hues, the river running parallel to Sanctuary looked less noxious, and more ethereal, like a runoff from the Fountain of Youth.  Curie was content; a beautiful end to a gloriously average day – she expected Sole wouldn’t be home for a few hours more, depending on where his adventures took him that day.  What she hadn’t expected was to see a vaguely familiar brunette sitting at Sole’s spot at the table, twiddling her thumbs.  Surprised as she was, hostility was not Curie’s default.

“’ _Allo_! Eez there somesing I can be of assistance with?” She looked onto the stranger with friendly curiosity.

“Ah, yes.” The woman stood up and beamed.  Her cheeks were bright as she tugged at her fingers in anticipation that fluttered like a small bird.  “I’m looking for my husband.”

“Oh! I sink you are mistaken zhen, zhis is my house.”

An apologetic look crossed her feet, and she ducked her head, ashamed.

“Oh geez – my bad.” Her face flushed.

A laugh bubbled from Curie’s throat; mistakes happened, she most certainly wasn’t one to crucify. “Eet eez no trouble at all!”

The woman smiled sheepishly. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Sole lives, would you?”

Curie’s heart couldn’t have stopped more suddenly if a train hit her.  Her eyes widened, dread perked up inside of her; needing confirmation before resorting to the nuclear option.

“S-Sole you say?” She kept her voice as light as she could.

“Yes.” The woman smiled with teeth this time.

The glaring whiteness was blinding, so much harsher than her yellowed ones. She wasn’t a caffeine person, but G5-19 had been ritualistic in her coffee intake.

“I’m Nora, I’m looking for my husband, Sole.”

Curie flinched at her name, the scientist in her unwilling to let her hurt settle on such a strange declaration.

“I’m sorry, you said your name was ‘Nora’?”

“That’s right!”

Nora’s words prickled Curie. “I…I thought you were dead?”

Curie paled. Nora,a woman who died two lifetimes ago, reappeared with the shock value of a spirit.  Despite her inquisitive, sensical nature, Curie couldn’t help but fix her gaze on her, as if worried she might disappear again, only to pop back up…when?  At their  _wedding_?  A mortifying scene played unwittingly in her mind; Curie in white, blushing beneath a rose-twined alter, her hands in Sole’s as he looked lovingly upon her face.  Then Nora, springing up in the congregation like the first daisy of spring, waving her arms with an objection too enthusiastic for the occasion.

Nora made a face. “Oh shoot, you must know.”

Curie didn’t answer, although her silence begged for one.

“You see, the real Nora died two-hundred and ten years ago, when the bombs dropped.  Father sent me –“

“To marry Sole?”  Like an offering.  A bribe.  A _concubine_.

Something hot and vicious flashed through Curie like a branding iron; it was unfamiliar, and its force terrified Curie.

“Well, I mean — ” Nora chuckled  “ —  _technically_ , we’re already married.”

Curie’s hand twitched before her brain could decipher the urge to yank at the synth’s soft brown curls.

“I…well, your services aren’t needed.” Curie smiled, although it was so terse it looked a grimace.

Nora frowned. “It’s not up for debate, Father told me –“

“Father didn’t know Sole was already seeing someone.”

“But, Father –“

“I mean, me.”

“Father said –“

“ _Father was wrong_!”

The two women gaped, stunned, at the silence following in the wake of Curie’s outburst.  Her shrill admonishment was more at home at the lips of a banshee’s than her own.  Curie tasted copper.  A rustling sounded in the doorway, and both women looked to the direction of the noise.  Nora visibly relaxed, Curie’s eyes widened like a startled radstag.

“Hey you.” Sole beamed at Curie and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her cheek.  Curie accepted so stiffly he could have kissed a wooden doll.  His smile faded, a wasteland winter falling on his summer afternoon eyes.

“Ah, Nora?”

“Yes! Hi honey!” Nora bounced forward to greet Sole.

Feminine hands fluttered to grasp at his shoulders, and Curie had the rotting feeling that she was going in for a kiss.  Sole caught her hands in his own, more restraining, than taking.

“Nora,” he said it again, chiding.

“Yes, dear, it’s  _me_.” She batted her eyelashes, biting coyly at her lip.  Each shuttered motion seemed to allow them a glimpse into a willful adoration.

“Hm.” He smiled, but it wasn’t like the one he gave Curie before.  This one was taken from him, rather than given of his free will.  It was rigid, standing on wooden stilts and dangled in front of Nora like a patronizing marionette doll.  “Listen, Ms. –“ his last name sounded foreign on his own tongue when he dressed her in it.  “You will always have a place here to call home, if you wish,”

Her eyes sparkled, “Baby!” she cooed.

“I can promise you that, as General of the Minutemen,” he spoke carefully, and precisely.  There was no room for frivolous misunderstanding here.  “But, I can’t promise you anything more, not as anyone else.”

Relief expanded wide in Curie’s chest, the pretty pink bubble of domestic life with Sole not haunted by ghosts of his former self, after all.  Nora balked, hurt on her face, more like someone forfeiting a fight, than someone meeting rejection from her husband.

“I don’t know, I should speak to Father first,”  she said flatly, her voice stripped of its pomp and frills with the official failure of her mission.

“Well, the door’s open, for when you decide,” Sole replied coolly, before turning his back on her, and towards Curie.

The phantom pangs lingering with him did not go unnoticed by Curie.  This poor imitation of his first wife didn’t change the fact that the real one had been stolen from him with appalling malevolence.  Curie reached to palm his face tenderly. She said nothing – there was no cure for such deep water funneling under such a rickety bridge.  Still, he wasn’t crossing alone.


	4. Danse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

“Stop fussing, you look fine.” Sole grinned, and playfully swatted Danse’s hand away from where it fidgeted with the collar of his tux.

“I don’t  _feel_  fine,” he muttered and scanned the room futilely.

If he was looking for threats, the room was technically full of them.  Sole arranged for Danse to accompany him into the belly of the beast tonight, the Institute. It was an attempt to broker peace between the Commonwealth and their infamous boogeyman.  After months of running messages between the divided remnants of humanity, and mediating heated debates between the three Commonwealth factions, Sole had finally managed to convince them to send representatives to meet with the members of the Institute.  Such a meeting hadn’t been easy to come by; there was enough bad blood to deter even Pickman himself, after all.  But no matter how they spun it, no one could deny that the Institute had an uncountable number of technologies that could improve life for those in the Commonwealth.  All the arguing, all the pride that they had been forced to pack away and shove at the back of a closet - it had all lead up to this night.  A few Commonwealth representatives from the Minutemen, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the Railroad would all be most graciously hosted by the Institute tonight, with Sole serving as a sort of liaison, being the one person with a stake in every corner.  

Sole looked to the main atrium of the Institute in wonder. The water features and plants felt less like a biological necessity, and more like posh ambiance under the twinkling fairy lights, and lavish backdrops for the occasion.  The eggheads cleaned up well, as it turned out, and somewhere, somehow, a quaint, stringed quartet was assembled, and playing in the corner.  People milled about, women in candy-colored dresses, and men in sleek tuxedos.  Despite the consistent buzz of chatter, the air was heavy with tension. Their own personal storm brewed invisibly amidst the swirling of skirts and clinking of champagne glasses.

Admittedly, Sole could have brought a less…risky date to this soiree. The former Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, who a few months prior, had ‘nothing to lose’ perhaps would not have been a tactician’s choice.  But Sole was only human, and this might be his last chance to have his son, and the man he loved in the same room. Sans gunfire.  Plus, Danse was just so fun to look at in a tux, Sole thought ruefully, and his stomach turned somersaults.

“Father.” Sole turned towards the voice and nonchalantly slid his arm through Danse’s, a warning restraint, as much as a comforting touch.

He could feel his partner’s rigid alertness, as if every fiber in his being resisted the imminent interaction with the Institute’s Director.

“Hey, shouldn’t I be calling you that?” Sole teased.

Father chuckled, accepting Sole’s attempt at an olive branch.  

“Hm, you raise a good question.” Father turned towards Danse, “And who might your…friend be?” he asked with a strained smile.

Danse’s face was impassive as a statue’s, and just as firm, but at least he wasn’t glowering at Shaun.

“Ah, right! This is Danse, my, uh…partner.”

Father’s gaze flicked to Sole’s grasp on Danse.

“I see.” His face was clinically polite.  “Well, it’s nice to meet you.  I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

Danse met Father’s gaze with less refined reproach.  His Commonwealth-worn face looked gritty in its distaste, rather than Father’s own soft one, touched only by time, rather than the brutality of war.

“Thank you.”

Sole let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; for now, it appeared that crisis had been averted.  Sole drew his thumb soothingly at the crease of Danse’s elbow, hoping to defuse whatever tension remained.  Meanwhile, Shaun appeared to be about to take his leave, before recognition flickered in his eyes, and he froze.

“Oh, right – dear, over here.” Sole looked around, trying to find who Shaun had called out to.  Shaun’s voice pulled Sole’s attention back to him. “Father, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.  Or rather, _meet again_.”

Then the air evacuated from Sole’s lungs entirely, and suddenly it was Danse’s paranoid stiffness that kept Sole from crumpling to the ground, as Shaun’s hazel eyes were mirrored in the woman who suddenly came to accept his outstretched hand.  Her brown curls floated just above her shoulders, lovely in her simplicity, and pretty without being obnoxious; Sole remembered thinking something similar when he’d watched her glide down the aisle at their wedding.  Danse’s eyes were trained on Sole’s expression, red rising in his face like mercury in a thermometer.  Sole’s eyes glistened with feeling, and he reached out a hand towards the woman, as if wanting to test her existence in the material world.

“Nora?”

This woman smiled bashfully; the real Nora would’ve said something cheeky.

“Actually, it’s designation O3-94, but you can call me Nora if you’d like.” Nora’s voice said, in a non-Nora fashion.

Father chuckled and patted the woman’s hand as if she’d done something charming.

“It’s Mother – or at least, as close to Mother as one can be, isn’t she great?”

Sole didn’t answer, he studied O3-94 tersely, waiting for the other disastrous shoe to drop.  Anger flashed through Danse, hot and bewildering; this is exactly the sort of abhorrent behavior the Brotherhood sought to end.  Here, the Institute had perverted Sole’s memory of his wife, with sugar-spun fragments of someone’s bliss two lifetimes ago.  Now, when Sole’s thoughts called Nora’s memory in his mind, it would be this  _thing_  that came to answer.

“Yes, she seems…nice.” Sole smiled weakly.

“She _is_  nice,” Shaun offered O3-94’s to Sole, “go on, why don’t you two have a dance and get more acquainted?”

O3-94 batted her eyelashes, and took a step towards Sole with enthusiastic obedience.  Sole hesitated, his touches dragging over the material of Danse’s tuxedo jacket as he slipped his grasp from him.  He offered a reluctant elbow to a hand that had accepted it many times, in another life.  In the corner, the quartet struck up a rendition of Rachmaninov’s  _Piano Concerto No. 2_. As the swell of music carried out to the main area that had opened up in a sort of dance floor, Nora placed one hand lightly on Sole’s shoulder, holding up the other in offering for him.  One of Sole’s hands found  _that_  waist, the very same way it had in the distant past, as his other one reached up to meet her’s, left suspended in the air.  He clasped his fingers with her, their hands were palm to palm.  Despite the closeness of their posture, there was nothing tender about something so regimented.

Sole took a brisk step to the side, leading, Nora followed effortlessly, and so their dance begun.  Neither spoke; Sole was focused on keeping his eyes anywhere but her face.  At blissfully deceiving himself into believing that the form he held was just a vacuum of space, rather than a physical copy of his late wife.  He didn’t even realize O3-94 wasn’t speaking to him either.  Until she did.

“I, uh…I’m sorry.” She gushed suddenly, ducking her head in shame.

Sole’s attention snapped to her, their waltz never pausing for a beat.  Despite how long it had been since their two bodies had met like this, they recognized each other well.

“What did you do?” Sole’s eyebrows drew together; a similar scene played out in his mind, faint in its age.  They were in the kitchen, and his voice was amused, rather than cautious.  The Nora in his memory matched this one’s embarrassment identically though.

O3-94 took a deep breath, as if stalling to draw in strength for her confession.

“Listen, I’m really sorry to hear about your wife, and sorrier yet that they gave me her face,” her eyes darted towards Father, who was watching them contentedly from the sidelines next to a very terse Danse, “but…I can’t marry you.  Or rather, stay married to you, I mean, I’ve just _met_  you.”  Sole watched the woman stammer out her truth with anxious eyes.  Her own brow knit together, cinched with worry, her gaze apologetic.  “It’s not you…it’s me.”

There was a note of quiet that fell between them, before Sole threw his head back and laughed an open, carefree laugh.  This Nora had never seen this laugh like the first one had.

“I…” a breathy chuckle cut him off, and Sole started again, a wide smile spread across his face, “I couldn’t be more relieved to hear that.” He shot a look towards Danse, who was still standing stiffly on the sidelines, his arms crossed.

O3-94 followed Sole’s stare, and when Sole turned back to her, she had visibly relaxed, her mouth curved into a small smile.

“He’s handsome,” she remarked.

Sole chuckled, “He is.”

They swayed a while longer as the music began to wind down; their hold grew comfortable and friendly after their confession.  Discomfort had melted away like the snows in spring, proffering a new budding friendship that Sole looked forward to having.  His wife seemed to approve of his boyfriend, Sole thought ruefully, a blessing most men seldom experienced in their life.  When the last note had evaporated in the air, and the few other dancers dispersed, Sole and O3-94 returned to where Father and Danse were waiting.

“Welcome back, the two of you looked picturesque out there,”

O3-94 shot Sole a knowing smile, “We understand each other well.”

“Good to hear.” Father nodded approvingly.

Sole eased his grasp into the crook of Danse’s elbow and felt him lean into his touch.  Sole made a mental note to fill Danse in on his and O3-94’s conversation; if for no other reason, than to put his worries to rest.

“Now, it’s time to deal with some business matters.  If you and your  _friends_  will follow me to the conference room, we can discuss what we gathered here tonight to discuss.”  Father turned towards the winding glass staircase through an archway of more twinkling lights.  Right – a peace treaty.  Sole scanned the crowd; in retrospect, perhaps leaving disgruntled key players from the factions in the Commonwealth wasn’t the wisest idea.  Danse was the lowest flight risk, if Sole was being honest.  By a table with refreshments kept in strangely shaped glassware, Preston stood awkwardly next to Arthur and Desdemona, their personal differences proving to be much weaker than their aversion to the scientists milling around.

“C’mon,” Sole murmured to Danse, “we should go get them before they burst into flames, or something.”

Danse grunted in agreement, and the pair headed over to the lone throng of Commonwealth people.

“So that was…are you alright?” Danse asked in a low voice, as they drew nearer.

Sole looked back to where they had left O3-94, who was now engaged in a conversation with another synth.  She waved her fingers at him, and grinned.

“Yeah,” Sole smiled back, “assuming we get through this meeting without a body count, I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”


	5. Deacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Deacon watched Nora’s eyes light up as Sole said something, and he grimaced as he struggled to coax the simmering envy in his stomach, down.  Could he really blame her?  He’d bet anything he looked just the same whenever he passed the hours chatting avidly with Sole.  This wasn’t the real Nora – not exactly the woman who lingered in the old photos Sole kept tucked under his bed in an old cigar box – but looking at her, no one would really be able to tell the difference.  Her soft brown curls, and big, doe-eyes shined with the same youth Sole’s had when he’d stumbled out of Vault 111.  M4-26 had been sent as a ‘gift’ from the Institute; everyone in the Railroad slept just a little bit better when they didn’t worry themselves with the moral quandaries surrounding the… _gift_  and let Sole reconnect his late wife.  It was strange; M4-26 looked to be in her late twenties to early thirties; the same age Nora had been the last time Sole had seen her, but realistically, her doppelganger was probably only about two years old.  While she had all the mental faculties of an adult, her age measured in experiences was still that of a child’s – and it was obvious to anyone who dared watch the spectacle.  When she was excited, she almost bounced with girlish enthusiasm, when Sole told her about the work he was involved with, her face would contort with an almost cartoonish air of disbelief, lips parted into a wide ‘O’ of surprise, a small furtive gasp as if his news had been shocking enough to sap the breath from her lungs.  

If she was going to do that every time Sole mentioned firing a gun, then she didn’t have long out here, Deacon mused to himself. Then, he banished the thought from his mind entirely.

It was a nightmare.  To Deacon anyways; but to M4-26?  It was probably a second chance, despite the questionable intent of her release from the Institute.  To everyone else in the Commonwealth who watched as the vault dweller reunited with his late wife, it was a testament to true love, and the distances it could conquer, the petty mortality it transcended.  To Sole?  To the man who’d felt like Deacon’s ‘happily ever after’, it was a miracle.  Deacon’s heart beat ragged inside of him, he felt the tissue split, and pump searing red into him, but even through this pain, he knew that M4-26 and Sole’s meeting (and to some, meeting again) were much bigger than him.  If Sole truly lit up when she was around, if he entrusted her to be keeper of his best self and worst regrets, then who was he to deny them of this.  True love was rare, Deacon knew this as well.  

They looked whole, Sole and Nora together again. It reminded him of Barbara, and his heart would ache brokenly in his chest.  He’d had his chance at happiness, he’d had his one great love, and maybe that’s all one got in their lifetime, if they were lucky.  Maybe a few got more; if anyone deserved it, Sole certainly did. Maybe this Nora would be his last; not the same love as the old Nora, but a different sort of love.  There reached a point where passion and the fire that licked at your skin from the inside out came second to the smoldering burn of a hearth.  To home, and sanctuary and every dull comfort in between.  Maybe there would be no sex in parks with this Nora, or waiting tearfully in an airport after months of distance nurturing a yearning in her heart, but there could be silvering days of leisure and occasions, someone to take care of him when he grew old, and someone to die with, when they were three-hundred and twenty-six, wrapped in each other’s arms.  

Now he sat, perching semi-contentedly on the front stoop of the Old North Church.   One leg stretched out along the length of the steps, the other folded.  His red high-tops told tales of pleasant summer days – they had been a favorite of his for years, he went through many faces, and many pairs of red high-tops in his line of work.  The sun began its descent, ducking behind other structures and slanting light on the debris that littered the downtown Boston area.  Gnarled metal glittered back the light in concentrated fractals; his own, trash heap in the rough.  His train of thought was made of recycled silver linings, and he thought intensely about what that might mean when Sole stepped out behind him.

“Hey,” his voice, like threadbare wool; rough and soft all at once, dragged Deacon back down to earth.

“Hey.”

Sole took a seat beside Deacon, close enough so that he could feel his body heat, heightened and sun-warmed, suffuse to his shoulder.  

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, even though he already had.

It was fine, Deacon didn’t mind at all.  But in the midst of all the ‘fineness’, there was a gnawing sort of wonder, more for the sake of gnawing than the wonderment itself. _Where was Nora?_

Sole’s eyes were still on the setting sun when he spoke.

“Let’s go grab a drink.”

The gnawing intensified, but it could not stifle the wide grin that broke out across Deacon’s face.  

“Sure.”

They both rose to their feet and started walking. Sun continued to slant through the gaps between the decaying city, and there was a pleasant breeze gracing the area that afternoon.  They talked of nothing in particular; just the nice weather, and how Carrington and Tinker Tom were butting heads again, and Drummer Boy sulking about another missed promotion.  It was another talk in a long series of normal talks they shared; the only thing that changed, was Sole’s tentative grasp, and the shy determination with which he threaded his fingers through Deacon’s, as they made their way to the Third Rail.


	6. Hancock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Hancock felt worn brick beneath the leathery pads of his fingers, as he raised a cigarette to his lips with his free hand. His dark eyes glittered ominously from his place in the downcast shadows of the Old State House.  He watched her step carefully into Goodneighbor, looking around, mouth slightly agape as she took in the flashy neon, and seedy charm. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, and the corner of his mouth crooked upwards into a harsh smile.  Sole had looked the very same way the first time he walked into Goodneighbor – his soft, pre-war demeanor had hidden a well-trained, deadly, war veteran.  Hancock had the sneaking suspicion that this doe-eyed little thing might actually wind up picking her teeth out of the nearest piss-smelling gutter.  He’d had this suspicion from the very first time he’d seen her face; frozen in a carefree laugh and tucked in one of the inner pockets of Sole’s old vault suit.  Of course, Hancock had known he’d been married before – had known his late wife had perished in the same Vault – Tech fuck up that had allowed Sole to escape and meet him in Goodneighbor later on.  He’d gone with Sole and seen the body himself – ice collecting at her eyelashes, her skin nearly translucent, and tinged with blue.  Yet, here he was again, watching this very same woman; dry-lashed and cheeks warm and lively as she stepped curiously into his town.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Kylen stepped into view. Hancock stabbed the end of his cigarette into the brick wall he leaned against, his leg muscles tensing for when he’d have to swoop in and save the lady from accepting her intestines back wrapped around Kylen’s switchblade.  This drifter had been like every other one; dirty and looking for a fix.  He wore the same ‘bad-boy’ road leathers Finn had, and even donned a similar knife.  And of course, like Finn, he wasn’t nearly as fast with it as Hancock was.  Morose as it was, Hancock’s grin spread wider – had this not been how Finn met his very same fate?  Now, another low-life was about to make the same mistake, and only about a year later.  Guess that just went to show; the world was full of Finn’s and Hancock’s – so one best choose wisely about which one they’d rather be.

“I’m just going to need some…insurance, you know?” Kylen’s voice was as smooth as silk, “Just to make sure we understand each other.”

The woman’s face creased worriedly. Insurance was supposed to be safe – and yet, when this sort of man used the word, it felt anything but.  She was trapped, her instincts, while Institute implemented, still rang true, as every fiber in her being screamed that this was a trap – but how?  This was his cue, Hancock thought, still amused at the blatant parallels to his first meeting with Sole.  He pushed off of the wall and sauntered out into the light.

“Someone steps in through that gate for the first time, they’re a guest,” Hancock rasped, “you lay off that extortion crap.”

Kylen whipped around to face Hancock at the sound of his voice, and the ghoul could see from this angle that he’d already flicked his switchblade out.  These young puppies were always so eager, Hancock mused to himself.  The younger man’s eyes narrowed, and despite the full head of hair, and bright blue eyes, he was the spitting image of Finn.

“Oh yeah?  Says who?”

Hancock snickered bleakly, paying no mind to the woman’s eyes on him as he sauntered towards Kylen.

“No love for your mayor?  I said let ‘em go.”

It was about now that Sole had taken to the audience as well, emerging from the Old State House so quietly, Hancock hadn’t even realized he was there.  His gaze flicked from the ghoul to the woman, and his breath hitched at the gutting familiarity.  Her soft brown curls and light blue eyes were as untouched by radiation as the last he’d saw them.  Sole’s mouth pressed into a thin line while a knife tangled in his innards – jarring as the sight of his late wife was, he’d been in the Commonwealth long enough to know that absolutely anything could happen.  He decided to watch Hancock again.

“Huh,” Kylen scoffed, “Finn was right – you’ve gone soft.  It’s about time there was a new mayor here, dontcha think?”

Hancock decided this exchange was like fine wine – it got better with age.  Or at least he found it considerably funnier this time around.  The ghoul had to fight to keep his straight face.

“C’mon man, this is me we’re talking about. C’mere,” he extended his arm in a gesture of fellowship, “lemme tell ya somethin’.”

Kylen took the bait so easily, Hancock almost felt bad. Then again, if he went by the drifter’s rules, this was a golden opportunity.  The woman was still watching, her eyes wide with curiosity. Sole had been outraged, scolded him even, during his show.  Hancock wondered if this woman would be the same.  In one fluid motion, Hancock’s outstretched hand wrapped snuggly around Kylen’s shoulders; in a gesture that felt as natural as breathing.  Kylen never even noticed when it constricted into a trap, when the ghoul drove his switchblade into the other man’s gut. Hancock’s firm grip cut through flesh and tissue like a hot knife through butter.  His dark eyes watched expectantly as dark crimson blossomed through the fabric of Kylen’s clothes, before seeping through and dribbling down, spotting vermillion on the pavement.  Spots turned to small rivulets of blood, striping downwards against the drifter as he sank against Hancock, ebbing his life out onto the streets of Goodneighbor.  Before all tension had seeped from Kylen’s limbs, Hancock shrugged, and dumped him coldly to the ground.  The woman, although several feet away, and firmly out of the ‘splash zone’, shrank away nevertheless.  

She was practically shaking in her boots, and Hancock knew better than to approach her.  Instead, he stooped down to reclaim his knife, wiping the blade clean on his coat, before tucking it away.  When he turned back to the woman, her attention had been seized by the very same man who laid claim to Hancock’s.  Now, he knew that Sole had seen what had just happened, as well as Goodneighbor’s newest guest, who bore the face of his late wife.  Sole reached her with his palms open and unassuming; his voice was equally so, falling from him in a coaxing voice.

“Hey now, don’t be afraid – everything’s alright.”

Hancock’s gut writhed in him, serpentine.  The woman looked readily to Sole, still trembling as she fell into him.

“I…I was s’pose to find you…” she said weakly, her voice muffled by the material of Sole’s shirt.

“I see.”

Hancock watched Sole.

His arms did not clutch at her, as if he’d found a treasure that was supposed to be lost forever to him.  He did not stroke her hair, like a doting lover would, or murmur soft sentiments in her ear, like the sort of husband Hancock bet he was. Instead his hands gripped at her elbows; utilitarian in steadying her, their strength lent to her, not drawn in.

She blinked up at him, before allowing a small smile to curve at her lips.

“I’m S4-05, and I think I was supposed to find you, Fath-“

“Right,” Sole cut her off, “I think we can let that be for now.  You let me handle Father.  Let’s just see if we can find you some accommodations for the night.”

His hand came to rest between her shoulder blades, like a parent pushing a child to say ‘hello’ to another.  

“She could stay at the Hotel Rexford.”

Hancock said this to Sole, still careful not to encroach on S4-05.  Between the face and the Kylen thing, he figured it was best to err on the side of caution.  He waited for Sole to guide the synth past him, heading towards the little side-street that peeled off towards the old hotel.  Hancock couldn’t have missed Sole’s smile had it been any shorter; it was a hummingbird – small and quick, but noticed, nonetheless.  

“Thanks John,”

“Anything for you, sunshine.”

The words couldn’t ring any truer.


	7. Gage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

It was a sweltering July day when Gage watched a doe-eyed little thing, stumbled into Nuka World.  It was the hottest Gage could recall since the gangs arrived in Nuka World; the bloodbugs buzzed ravenously, their monotonous drone announcing Death’s imminent arrival, for whomever was unlucky enough to be caught unprepared.  Gage pressed the tip of his cigarette into the wall of one of the piss-poor stores in the Nuka Town marketplace.  He spit into the dirt, more so out of habit than necessity, before he pushed off from the sun baked aluminum.

Gravel crunched under his feet as he approached the woman, while recognition churned a nauseous brew in his stomach.  Gage wasn’t one to remember faces, but Sole ensured this one wasn’t a face he could forget.  Despite two-hundred plus years, her face was soft and undappled by the passage of time. Her hair fell in the same brown curls Gage had glimpsed in old family pictures, her eyes the same hazel.  As he drew closer, her palatability brought a startling wave of rage in the raider.  He hated her. That much was clear, as much as he tried to hide it from Sole.  She was Sole’s family, and no one could hurt someone like their family – Gage had seen it for himself, and for Sole.  He just hadn’t expected her to be alive to hate in the flesh.  Despising someone in memory wasn’t half as exhausting as tasting the copper of vengeance on your tongue when hating them as they stood before you.  The urge to spit again rose up in him, but Gage ignored it.  She turned when the sounds of his footsteps reached her. She smiled in a friendly manner and Gage gritted his teeth.

“Hello!” she greeted cheerfully. “I’m a bit lost, do you think you can help me?”

Gage grunted back, which the woman took as affirmation.

“Great!  I’m actually looking for my husband.” She smiled sheepishly. “His name is ‘Sole’, maybe you know him?  I was told he lived in the area.”

Gage knew who this woman was, knew why she was here, and yet, it didn’t make the impact of the word ‘husband’ any less gutting.  Biting resentment cut him like piano wire and he wanted to wipe the meager show of kindness from her face – but he wasn’t one to hit a woman.  At least, not one who wasn’t a raider.

A husky, growl of a ‘no’ threatened at his lips, before the tactician in his brain lidded the anger that licked at him.   _Wait_. Gage cleared his throat. “Sure, I know ‘im,” he offered, his tone warming considerably.

Nora sighed in relief. “Oh that’s great, thank you so much,” she gushed.

“Yeah, sure,” he drawled. It was as agreeable as he was willing to make his voice, without risking vomiting.  “Jus’ follow me.”

“Thanks again,” she said as they headed off towards Nuka Town U.S.A.

Without looking back, Gage felt her inquisitive gaze as she took in the locale milling about; their gnarled armor, caked in the russets of dried blood mingled with dirt.  He bet she was thinking of how she’d befriend the colorful folks she passed by, how she figured the distant structures of the themed parks would become her new home, as they cluttered at the horizon.  Tough and capable as Sole was, a little bit of that naivete had been in him when he’d first clambered out of the Cola Cars Arena as well.  The memory bore butterflies in Gage’s gut, but Nora’s nagging presence kept his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“So, where are we going?” Her girlish voice tore Gage from his entrenching thoughts.

“To see Sole,” he said, a little indignantly, and Nora laughed.

She thought it was a  _joke_.  “I mean, yes, but where  _is_  he?”

“His office is up by the entrance of the old monorail.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue, even as his hands broke out into a sweat, when they passed the Fizztop Grille, where Sole was probably lounging around at the top, idly wondering what Gage was up to  He didn’t dare ponder Sole’s reaction at finding out.

“To greet the people coming to the park?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Oh my god!” Nora swooned. “He’s so nice, I can’t wait to meet him!”

Gage shot her a look.  She didn’t need to see it to know what he must be thinking.

“It’s a long story – but, yeah, I’m meeting my husband for the first time.”

“Hm, sounds swell.” He could humor her; there wasn’t much longer anyways.  They headed out of central Nuka Town, and approached where the monorail stopped.  All they had to do was climb the back stairs. Then, he was home free.

“Could you…tell me what he’s like?”

There was that damned, hokey smile again.  The softness in it made him want to put his fist straight through her.  The population of raiders in the area was thinning out.

“Uh –“

“I…know you don’t know me, and this seems really weird, but…” Nora let out a small puff of breath, equally as resigned as the slight embarrassment that tinged her smile.  “I’m nervous…I feel like I’ve known this man forever just from what people have told me.  I like him so much already!  And that’s crazy, because I don’t even know what he’s actually like.”

When Gage looked back at her, she was biting her lip pensively, her face the most serious he’d seen it yet.  She thought she was moments away from meeting the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with.  He sighed, feeling generous as the overseer of her final moments.

“He’s…a real stunner, but you probably know that,” Gage mumbled, his face growing hot.

She turned to look at him, eyes wide as she paid him every ounce of her attention.

“An’…he’s real smart too.  Not in a snooty, egghead sort o’ way though.  More like, real life smart, ya know?”

“Like, street smart?” she suggested.

“Exactly — ” Gage nodded “ — he cares about people.” Gage felt his innards liquify, similar to how they did when he was smitten with the Overboss all those months.  A soft smile formed at his lips as he revisited such shamefully endearing feelings.  “But, he can also crack some skulls when needed.  You need someone to count on?  He’s yer man.”

Nora’s cheeks glowed. “Wow!  He really does sound as amazing as Father said!” She grinned more easily now, feeling like she’d officially broken the ice on the raider’s cold shoulder.  “You sound like you know him well, are you two close?”

The pair climbed a set of metal utility stairs.  Gage shoved his hands into his pockets. “I trust him with m’life.”

Halfway up, they passed a piece of plywood smeared ambiguously with a red  _Gauntlet_ , accompanied by a just as sloppy arrow.

“What’s the ‘Gauntlet’?” she asked, her breathing heavy from the exertion.

“It’s…an inside joke between those of us that work with your husband.” Gage glimpsed back at her, noticing how she lagged a couple of steps behind.  “No worries, we’re just about there, just a couple of steps more.”

They finished the trek in silence.  As the chipping red paint of the monorail cars came into view, Gage’s heart thudded heavily in his chest, like the gong of a bell before an execution, their footsteps fell at the pace of a funeral dirge.  Gage turned towards the door of the entrance of the Gauntlet.  Normally, he would’ve alerted RedEye, but this run wasn’t for the spectators.  Gage would bet that by the time he told RedEye, the run would be over anyways.

“Alright, we’re here.  You ready?”

“Wait!” Nora pinched her eyes shut and took a deep breath.  She was still for a few moments before the looked at Gage one last time.  “Alright, I’m ready ” — she beamed — “Thank you again.  Once I’m all settled in, we should get a drink sometime – or maybe Sole and I can have you over for dinner!”

Gage smiled placidly. “Sounds great.”

He unhinged the wooden plank and pushed the door open.  Nora stepped curiously through and looked around.  “Hey, what — ”

Gage slammed the door shut, and snapped the hinge back into place.  He turned and headed back down the way he and Nora came.  One step down, and he heard the rhythmic putter of the turret pick up to a machine gun popping when it registered movement inside the first room of the Gauntlet.  Nora’s screams reached him as he rounded the base of the stairs, where RedEye bounded up to greet him.

“Hey, is someone in the Gauntlet?  Man, you’ve  _got_  to give me more warning than-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Gage cut him off.  “It was a…personal experiment, not a serious contender.”

RedEye watched him for a moment, before relaxing, a broad grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, good man, that’s a big relief.” He clapped Gage on the shoulder. “Can’t have people thinkin’ RedEye fell asleep at the wheel now.”

“No,” Gage said coolly, Nora’s screams echoing in his skull despite their abrupt end in the real world.  The turret was back to its usual, peaceful putter. “We can’t.”

Gage headed back to the Fizztop Grille. Sole was waiting for him, after all.


End file.
